


Peter Parker and the God-Awful Month: FebuWhump2021

by i_regret_thatpersonalityquiz



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Abusive May Parker (Spider-Man), Angst, Attempt at Humor, BAMF Peter Parker, Buried Alive, Child Abuse, F/M, FebuWhump2021, Game Night Gone Wrong, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Control, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Break, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, The Raft Prison (Marvel), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Torture, Truth Serum, Whump, Wrongful Imprisonment, jfc ross calm DOWN, kill bill references, surprise peter gets a building dropped on him again, this is may slander and i'm sorry, yes i'm doing that trope leave me alone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_regret_thatpersonalityquiz/pseuds/i_regret_thatpersonalityquiz
Summary: Comin' in hot with the FebuWhump!!! rip Peter I guess
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Everyone, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 45
Kudos: 126





	1. Day 1- Mind Control

**Author's Note:**

> hey gang! hope y'all are well, and here's my take on the whump prompts! these are all gonna be unrelated to each other, and they're not set in the universe of my other work (check that one out if you liked this even a little)  
> i don't think there's any TWs for this chapter, but let me know if you find one!

Peter wished he didn’t have to go to school. Not for like, the normal reason of Boring As Hell, but because he often missed out on all the action while he was at school. There have been many times where he had learned about an attack on the city while in class, but was never able to go out and help. Whether it was because Mr. Stark put a lock on his suit, or if the teachers were just being really protective of the students, or if he simply didn’t know about it till it was over, Peter couldn’t fight in every single battle. This time was no exception.

The fight wasn’t as publicized as they usually were, so Peter didn’t know what had happened. The teachers didn’t even talk about it in school. So, color him surprised when he was body slammed by one of Mr. Stark’s older suits upon his arrival at the tower. 

“Fuck!” he shouted as the suit pushed him into a wall. He grunted out, “Hey man, I don't take kindly to assault.”

The suit paid him no mind, and Peter panicked a bit when he could hear the wall start to crack behind him. 

“What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck,” he mumbled under his breath, trying to get a full breath of air in. The suit was starting to constrict his chest, limiting his oxygen intake. “FRIDAY?” he called out, hoping to get a response.

Like the godsend she was, the A.I. responded, “How can I help, Peter?”

“Yeah, uh, could you figure out what’s going on? Are we under attack?” _By Mr. Stark’s own suits?_

“Boss is currently controlling the suit from his floor, Peter.”

 _What?_ _  
_

“Any particular reason why he’s doing that, Fri?” he asked as he tried to maneuver enough to reach the control panel of the suit on its back. 

FRIDAY took a moment to respond. “It seems that Boss has some form of gas coursing through his system, inhibiting his usual neurological functions.” She spoke as if she was telling Peter what the weather would be like tomorrow. Except she was using a lot of fancy words. And she was telling him that his mentor had some serious shit going on. 

“It kinda sounds like you’re implying that he’s being mind controlled, Fri,” he groaned as he heard (and felt. Oh god, he felt.) one of his ribs crack. 

“That would be an accurate assumption.”

Jesus fucking christ. “Hey Fri? Maybe you could let me know that Mr. Stark is being mind controlled next time?” 

“I will make sure to do so in the future.”

Peter let out a slightly hysterical laugh as he finally felt the control panel. He ripped it open, and tore at a few random wires. It seemed to do the trick, as the suit sputtered to a halt, powering down almost immediately. It fell off of him, and Peter dropped to the floor. He let out a small shout as the movement rustled his newly acquired injuries. He knew that plenty of bruises were going to be forming, and he had at least one cracked rib, maybe broken. 

_Holy shit._

So. Mr. Stark was being mind controlled. How? There was probably a battle today, which Mr. Stark seemed to have fared poorly in. All Peter knew was that he needed to avoid his mentor until he could find a way to fix this. Speaking of… 

“Hey Fri, how would one go about making Mr. Stark, y’know, not mind controlled?” 

“Since he inhaled the fumes of an unknown toxin,” she told him, “I would assume the best way to get it out of his system is increased oxygen intake.”

“Ok, so an oxygen mask,” he mumbled. “Does that imply that we could also just wait it out? Let the fumes leave his system naturally?”

“That is also an option, Peter. It seems that I must also inform you that Boss is currently on the way to your location in Mark 63.”

“What!” Peter exclaimed as he scurried into a nearby elevator. He slammed the button for Medbay. “Jesus, Fri, don't you have some control over the suits? Can’t you shut it down?”

“Boss has restricted my access. Apologies, Peter.”

Peter sighed as he moved his hand to cradle his aching ribs. “No, Fri, it’s not your fault. How long has it been since Mr. Stark was… infected?”

“Boss returned from a fight approximately one hour ago, and has not left the tower since.”

The elevator was silent as the doors slid open, and Peter moved as fast as he could into the safety of the Medbay. Prepare an oxygen mask first. Then call Mr. Stark into the room. To… restrain him? Knock him out? Peter didn’t like either idea, but he couldn't have a feral Ironman running rampant throughout the tower. Wait, pause. Why didn’t Mr. Stark leave the tower? He relayed his question to FRIDAY as he got out an oxygen mask from a cabinet. He knew the Medbay well, sue him.

“Boss locked down the tower while he still had coherent thoughts,” she told him. 

He looked up, furrowing his eyebrows. “Then how was I able to get in?”

“I have been instructed to always let you into the tower.”

Peter chuckled, “Oh, I’m on the favorites list, am I?”

“Yes,” the A.I. said without hesitation. “The only other people that rule applies to are Pepper Potts, James Rhodes, and Happy Hogan.”

He froze. Huh? But they were Mr. Stark’s best friends… Why would he be on the same level as them? He was an intern, personal assistant, Spider-Man, whatever you wanted to call it. Maybe, uh, Mr. Stark got tired of having to approve his entry after a while. He _did_ come almost every day, so the task probably got redundant. That was it. 

Ok, he’s got the mask and an oxygen concentrator. Assess the injuries. He couldn’t hold himself completely upright, and he caught view of his forming bruises in a mirror. Yikes. They spattered across his neck and on his upper arms, and he was sure that they spread across his torso as well. It was an Ironman suit, what did he expect? Light scratching? Whatever, he would have to deal with his mounting injuries after he got Mr. Stark under control. 

When the man got to the Medbay, the first thing that needed to happen was the disabling of his suit. Peter knew Mark 63 like the back of his hand- lucky for him that Mr. Stark chose to use a suit that Peter helped work on. Disabling should be easy, and then he bet that his mentor would come out of it, ready for hand to hand combat. At least he thought that’s what the man would do. It seemed like the main objective of the mind control was to hurt Peter. It was oddly specific, but as long as Mr. Stark wouldn't be hurting anyone else, it was alright. Peter could handle it. Peter could easily defeat him in a fist fight, that's for sure. He grabbed some simple, leather restraints from one of the cabinets to attach to the bed. He guessed they were random emergency restraints, because they were just hyped up belts. No non-enhanced Avenger needed to be restrained, they were used to getting hurt. They were too basic for any enhanced individual. Peter himself had vibranium restraints, but the doctors had only needed to use those once or twice. God, Peter hoped these restraints weren’t for fulfilling some hospital sex fantasy. No kink shaming in this house, but still. 

Peter took a deep breath, and then called out, “Fri? Could you let him know that I’m in Medbay?”

FRIDAY paused slightly, before saying, “Yes, Peter. Be careful.”

He mumbled an “always am” as he climbed up the wall to reach the spot directly above the entrance. 

He heard the thrusters approaching. Yeah, this was all ok. It was just his ~~father figure~~ mentor coming to attack him with no restraint. Peter’s gonna be able to choose what they watch on movie nights for months. Blackmail and whatnot.

_Take a deep breath, Peter. Wait, shit, not that deep, fuck. Ow._

Mr. Stark was in the hall now. Peter had to mentally prepare himself for possibly hurting his mentor. If he didn't, Mr. Stark might hurt others. Peter was expecting the rapidly approaching suit to crash through the doors, but they opened automatically for the man. 

Mr. Stark flew into the room, slowing to a stop. Peter took that opportunity to pounce on the man, who immediately flew upward. Upward so far that he slammed Peter into the ceiling.

“Fuck!” If those ribs weren’t broken before, they definitely were now. He needed to get away from the ceiling. Peter stretched his arms up, ignoring the burning sensation that came with the motion, and mounted his hands on the ceiling. He started to push, and felt the suit slowly move back down. He heard the thrusters power up more, but he just put more strength into the push. The ceiling cracked slightly. With a final groan, he finally got enough space to flip to the other side of the suit. Mr. Stark immediately began twisting to try and shake Peter off, but the teen just wrapped his arms around the man to reach the controls on the back of the suit. Once again, like it was muscle memory, he ripped off the panel and pulled at a jumble of wires. They snapped, and he heard the suit start to power off. 

“Yes!” Peter exclaimed, but his stomach dropped when he realized that they were going to fall to the ground in about 0.64 seconds. “Shit shit _shi-_ ”

Peter cried out when he fell to the ground, the suit laying over his body. He pushed the man off of him, and struggled to get up in time to face Mr. Stark when he stumbled out of the suit. 

His usually put-together mentor was currently looking the opposite of that. He himself was a bit banged up, and Peter just hoped that he wasn’t the one to cause that. Mr. Stark had a few scratches lining his face, and a wild mane of mussed up hair. His form was shaking, and his eyes held a craze in them that made Peter want to recoil from him. But he had no chance to, as Mr. Stark formed his gauntlet around his fist. That was something Peter failed to consider.

“Hey Mr. Stark!” He yelped as he twisted his body away from a repulsor blast. “Don’t ya think we could talk this out? Like, maybe you could be a nice little mentor and sit down so I can get some sweet, sweet oxygen in you?”

Mr. Stark showed no signs of hearing him, instead aiming to hit Peter once more. Peter avoided it, but all that was doing was getting him farther away from the man. He needed to incapacitate him. He flung himself to the ceiling, therefore avoiding an oncoming blast. Once again, he threw himself onto the man, but this time Mr. Stark didn't have a metal suit protecting him. They collapsed to the floor, and while mentally apologizing, Peter ripped off the gauntlet. He crushed it like one would crush a soda can.

“I’ll help you make another, Mr. Stark,” he promised as the man writhed underneath him. Peter yanked a restraint from the bed near them, and pulled it taught around his mentor, who then attempted to bite at his hands. “Sir, what the actual fuck.”

Peter secured the restraint around the man, and easily picked him up. Well, as easily one could when the person they were picking up was utilizing their chompers. He laid Mr. Stark on the bed, and tied the bonds around his flailing wrists and ankles. Peter hurried backwards, and finally let out a breath of air. Alright, that just happened.

Mr. Stark was writhing as much as his restraints would allow, which was not very much. The man didn’t seem worn down whatsoever, so maybe the drugs allowed him an adrenaline boost. 

“Lemme just get that mask for you, sir,” Peter mumbled to unhearing ears. He grabbed said mask and oxygen tank, and quickly slipped it onto the thrashing man’s head. He turned the machine on, and with that, he all but ran from the room, not looking back.

As soon as the door shut behind him, he slid down to the ground with his back against it. “Fri?” he panted. “Could you let me know when the shit’s outta Mr. Stark’s system?”

“Of course, Peter,” she replied. “Try to get some rest.” She spoke with a softer tone, gentle.

“Working on it.” He breathed deeply and evenly, trying to calm his suddenly shaking body. His body had been on, on, _on_ for who knows how long. Not only that, but he just had to fight Mr. Stark, and while he tried not to hurt the man, he still jumped on him and restrained him. God, Peter hoped Mr. Stark would forgive him. 

He looked down at his skin once again, and grimaced at the sight of the horrible discoloration. He would feel that later. He breathed in deeply once more, despite the stabbing pain that came from his chest. At least the broken rib didn’t pierce his lung. But Peter didn’t feel like wrapping it at the moment, so he could only hope it would heal correctly.

With one final smooth exhale, Peter shut his eyes for a dreamless sleep.

-

FRIDAY’s voice jolted him awake, and he hissed when the movement irritated his injuries. “Peter, the drugs have now completely left Boss’s system.”

Peter hurriedly jumped up, turning to face the door. Ok, now to just. Enter. Nothing wrong with going in. But what if Mr. Stark was actually still controlled, and the man attacked him? No, Fri wouldn't lie to him. But can she be completely sure? Wait, wait, don’t doubt FRIDAY. Mr. Stark made her. He’s a genius. But at the same time, his favorite genius had recently turned on him. And hurt him. But no, the injuries weren’t even that bad. Peter had had way worse. So much worse. But none of those injuries had ever been inflicted by Mr. Stark. What would-

“Peter?”

“Sorry,” Peter breathed out, “I’m sorry, Fri. I’m going in.”

He slowly pushed open the door, and his eyes locked on his mentor’s. Peter prided himself on not flinching back when they made eye contact. The craze in Mr. Stark’s eyes that Peter half-expected to see was no longer there, replaced by pure concern and remorse.

“Heya, Pete,” Mr. Stark whispered.

Peter stayed frozen in his position. “Hey, Mr. Stark,” he choked out, and no, he was crying, there was simply a lump in his throat that wouldn’t let his vocal cords work properly. “Are you with me now?”

Mr. Stark’s face grew even sadder. “Yeah bud, I’m here.”

Peter couldn’t resist. There was a nagging in the back of his mind, not his Spidey Sense, but simply a feeling that he should triple check to make sure everything is alright. “Fri?” he questioned.

“All of Boss’s suits are currently powered down, Peter,” she calmed him, without him even needing him to explain what he meant. Peter let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“You think you could untie me, kid?” Mr. Stark asked.

Peter’s eyes widened, and he rushed forward. “Sorry! S-sorry. Yeah, um I-I’ll, uh. Get on that. Ye- um, yep. Sorry.” Dammit Peter, didn’t have to fucking stutter. He arrived at the bed, focusing on loosening the restraints, ignoring his shaking hands. 

“Hey,” his mentor said sternly. “Don’t apologize, Pete. It was my own fault. Let myself get brainwashed, or whatever.” When Peter didn't respond, instead moving onto the second restraint, the man went on. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Peter.”

Peter ripped the leather bond in half, letting it fall off his mentor’s wrists. He dove down to wrap his arms tightly around the man. 

“It wasn’t your fault either, Mr. Stark,” he spoke into the man’s shoulder. Mr. Stark hesitantly lifted his own hands to encompass Peter’s body. Peter didn’t flinch.

“Still sorry, kid. It’ll be ok. We’re gonna fix this.”


	2. Day 2- "I can't take this anymore"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty guys for the love <3  
> disclaimer: I love May so much, but do it for the prompt fill, y'know?  
> TWs: child abuse (verbal and physical), alcohol use, forced food restriction, panic attack. stay safe <3

May’s nails were long. She constantly put so much effort into keeping them healthy and strong, never getting acrylic nails, never biting them. They had been long for as long as Peter could remember, and always painted with a coat of red nail polish. They clacked loudly against the keyboard when she typed. She filed them once a week, making sure that they were perfectly square, edges sharp. She always painted them herself, too. Their apartment was always fully stocked with the deep red polish May loved. She had gotten good at painting them, too. Always being able to flawlessly brush over a nail in three quick strokes, and move onto the next one. The nail polish she used hardly ever dulled until May redid them on Nail Sunday.

Not even when she pierced them into Peter’s skin.

Peter was almost completely sure that she kept them sharp for that exact reason. She had drawn blood on numerous occasions, digging her nails into his arm as she lines it with scratches. Stabbing them into his shoulder blades when she places her hand on his shoulder.

She has never punched him, nails not allowing her to make an actual fist. No, she just slaps him. Uses a belt. Kicks him. Tugs at his hair. Doesn't allow him to eat that day. Doesn’t let him close his bedroom door. Drinks a bit too much, and uses the empty alcohol bottle as a weapon.

Peter wasn’t gonna lie. It _sucked._ It sucked to have his only relative absolutely despise him. She had been acting this way ever since Ben died. Made her feel lonely, and she blamed Peter for his death. Peter did too, but May didn’t even know that Peter could have stopped it. He had gotten his powers just a few days before, yet he did nothing when Ben went down. But the reason they were out together anyway was because Peter had wanted ice cream. At nine o’clock in the evening. And Ben, being the wonderful uncle he was, took him out to get some. Which led to his demise. So, May blamed Peter. He could understand that.

But there were other things, too. They were always tight on cash, going paycheck to paycheck (excluding alcohol purchases), and May was already working as many shifts as possible. She didn’t have to convince Peter to get a job, he had already applied to a McDonald’s. He got it, but all of those jobs still weren’t enough for their apartment in Queens. May blamed him for the poverty as well. He mooched off of her, “eating her out of house and home.” Now, Peter didn’t fully believe that. He had cut back on his food intake a while ago, which wasn’t agreeing with his metabolism. Not only that, but May restricted his food a lot. He usually didn’t get anything on the weekends, and he couldn’t afford school lunch. On the school days when May didn’t let him eat, Peter aimed to get as large of a snack as possible at the tower during his internship. But he was only with Mr. Stark three days a week, so it was safe to say he wasn’t getting enough food. 

It showed on his patrols. He was steadily getting sloppier, getting hurt more often. At least he never had to explain any injuries to May. They looked about the same as what she caused. She never saw the stab wounds, too lazy to get Peter to take off his shirt before she beat him. Instead, many of his shirts were split open in the back from the hard blows. 

Peter had an untorn shirt on today, but that was soon to change. He got back late from the tower, and he knew that May got back from her shift a little while ago already. He was going to be punished, that’s for sure. He moved quickly up the stairs (because their apartment complex’s elevator had been broken for some time), hoping to not make his punishment any more severe. He reached their door, not even a little out of breath, and he could already smell the vodka in the air. Shit. Vodka was always worse than beer or wine. Peter made his face devoid of any emotion, and opened the door. 

Immediately, he had to dodge a bottle. Only a little bit of liquid was intermixed with the shards of glass, so she must have almost finished it. He kept his eyes glued to the floor, frozen, already knowing he made a mistake. He wasn’t supposed to dodge.

“Get over here.”

He rushed to get in front of her, hands folded in front of himself. She kicked his shin, and he knelt down.

“Why are you late?” she demanded, a slight slur in her speech.

Peter cleared his throat, and said, “There was an accident on the way here, ma’am. Mr. Hogan had to take a detour.” It was a lie. The truth was that he simply didn’t want to go home, so he allowed himself to get lost in the project he was working on with Mr. Stark. He wanted to improve his parachute in his suit; they were working on making it both fireproof and waterproof.

“Then you should have left earlier in case there was one.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A slap to the face. “I wasn’t finished,” she seethed. “I still don’t think that you should even be doing this internship. It’s not paid. Takes up time that you could be using to get more money. You’re going to quit”

Peter looked up. Mistake number two. “But-” And that was mistake number three. Three strikes and you’re out. 

Peter was knocked to the ground, and May dug the heel of her shoe into his chest. “Don’t you _dare_ object!” she screeched. “Know your fucking place. If I say you do something, _you fucking do it.”_ She emphasized each sentence with a kick to the chest.

“Stand up, you wimp.” Peter did as she asked when she removed her foot. As soon as he pushed himself up, his arm was grabbed by the woman. He fucking hated this part. 

She began to drag her nails down his arm, etching marks into his skin. She was completely silent, simply going over the same lines over and over again. Peter could feel the layers of his skin peel away with each nail, and didn’t even have to look at his arm to know it had started to bleed. She didn’t stop, instead continued to smear the blood with each scratch she made. His arm was burning. The pain wasn’t too bad though, all Peter could focus on was that he was being forced to quit working with Mr. Stark. The tower was the only place he felt safe. He didn’t like his apartment for obvious reasons. School had Ned and MJ, but it also had Flash. Quitting the internship would not only cause Mr. Stark to be suspicious, it would take away his one reprieve from all of his other shit. He doubted he would be able to patrol if he quit, because Mr. Stark would think it odd that he quit the internship, yet not Spider-Man. 

Peter was brought back to the situation at hand by a sharp tug on his hair. 

“I want you to go over there tomorrow, and quit.” She left no room for argument. “What do you say.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Go to your room, you need to finish all of your work before you make me dinner. Don’t even think about nabbing some for yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Peter continued to look at his feet as he quickly left for his room. Get math done first. Do history. Finish the essay for English. Make pasta for May. Sneak out for a patrol once she was asleep. Go to bed. Go to school the next day. Then go to the tower. Quit.

Peter went into the bathroom, and caught sight of the massacre on his arms. They were the same shade of red as May’s nail polish.

Yeah. Peter wasn’t doing any of that shit.

He didn’t know why he even thought otherwise. He had been putting up with his aunt’s shit for years. He was tired of it. Peter didn’t think as he grabbed his backpack. Went on autopilot as he gathered some mementos from happy times, including several printed out pictures of his friends. He rushed to pull on his mask, forgoing the suit, instead putting on a hoodie and his webshooters. He quietly opened the window in his room, and dove out without looking back. 

He was swinging to the tower, of course. Mr. Stark was safe. He could help. He didn’t want to bother Ned or MJ, either, so the tower was probably his best bet anyway. As he swung through the air, he heard the amazed calls “Wow! Spider-Man” from the New Yorkers below. He did not falter, continuing his fast pace to the tower. 

He landed on a roof near the tower, and jumped into the alleyway below. Making sure no one was watching, he yanked off his mask. When he emerged into the street, he just looked like one of the many teenagers out and about in the street. He all but ran the rest of the way to the tower, speeding through the entrance and past the secretary’s desk. He swiped his badge hurriedly, and ran into the elevator. 

“Hello again, Peter,” FRIDAY greeted him. “Would you like to go to the lab? Boss is currently there.”

“Yes, please,” he panted. He paced impatiently in the elevator as he waited to arrive. He had no semblance of a plan at all. 

The doors opened and walked out. 

“Hey, kid,” Mr. Stark called out from where he was working under one of his cars. “What are you doing back here?”

Peter didn’t say anything, just standing a few yards away. 

“Kid?” The man rolled out from under the car, and pushed himself up. They made eye contact. “Woah, Pete, are you alright? Lookin’ a bit under the weather, there.”

Peter immediately broke down. He fell to his knees, hiding his face in his hands as he sobbed. Cried for the pain he was put through. For the loss of Ben. For the loss of his loving aunt that went with his uncle. He barely registered Mr. Stark’s presence until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Peter flinched away, his breathing picking up. 

“Woah, hey, okay,” the man soothed. “No touching, I got it. I need you to take a deep breath for me, Pete. Can you do that?” Mr. Stark took an exaggerated inhale as an example.

Peter tried to copy, but he coughed on the air. He let it out quickly, and took in air again just as fast. The pace of his breathing didn’t slow.

“That’s alright, we’ll try again. Peter? Take a slow breath in, please.”

“I-I ca-can’t. I can’t d-do it,” Peter choked out. His lungs were tight, like someone grabbed hold of them and _squeezed._

“I know you can, kid. You’re here with me. It’s 8:42 in the evening, and you’re sitting on the floor. Can you feel it? It’s pretty cold. Put your hands on it, Pete, feel the chill.”

Peter slowly did as the man asked. He felt the freezing cold floor, and wondered how he hadn’t felt it before. Mr. Stark led him in another breath, and this time he was able to follow. He did it again. And again. And again until he was no longer straining for air, his tears now only stains on his cheeks. 

It was quiet for about another minute, Peter just listening to Mr. Stark’s heartbeat. The sound soothed him, the beats doubled by the clanging of the man’s arc reactor. 

He took another deep breath, and whispered, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what, kid?”

Peter gestured wildly. _“This!_ I just… can’t anymore.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific here,” Mr. Stark pleaded gently.

Instead of responding immediately, Peter moved backwards to pull up the sleeves of his hoodie. Mr. Stark inhaled sharply.

“May.”

“May… did that?” the man shakily said.

Peter nodded. “She’s done worse.”

“For how long?”

“Maybe about two years now.” 

Mr. Stark rubbed his hands over his face. “Can I hug you now, kid?” Peter gave a mute nod, and he was engulfed by the arms of his mentor. “You’re not going back there. I promise.”

Peter smiled as he started to cry once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bad May, bad! lemme pull out the spray bottle  
> sorry if that was shit lmao. comments and kudos appreciated <3


	3. Day 3- Imprisonment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty guys for the love <3  
> lmao there's still time for me to post this it's FINE  
> TWs: mediocre descriptions of violence and injuries

“Mr. Stark, if you do not shut up  _ right now,  _ I’m gonna have to remove your spleen with a pair of chopsticks.”

The man had the audacity to chuckle. “All I’m saying is it’s a little odd how often you talk about MJ. And it’s always funny to see your face turn that red.”

Peter hid his face in his hands and groaned, “You know what? It’s time for me to go.” He started to move about the workshop, collecting his backpack and cleaning up his work station. 

“Kid, you’re gonna leave because of a little teasing?” Mr. Stark’s voice was dripping with mock hurt. Peter could hear the smile in his voice, so he didn’t turn around to face him.

“Yes.”

Mr. Stark scoffed. “You know, in my day, I always owned up to liking someone.”

“That’s just because you're a goddamn old man. Things were different ‘in your day’.”

“Pete, you wound me!” he cried out. When Peter had finally finished packing up, he turned to see the man take on a stricken expression, his hand clutching his heart.

Peter snorted, “My condolences for your age, Mr. Stark.” With that, Peter walked towards the elevator, his mentor continuing to throw insults his way.

The elevator doors closed, and Peter asked FRIDAY to take him to the lobby. He waved to the secretary on the way out, wishing her a good evening. Mrs. Fields was a kind old woman, with wrinkles around her eyes from smiling. Sometimes she gave Peter lollipops, and in exchange, Peter would show her something he found funny on his phone. She didn’t always understand it, but she always laughed anyway. 

He pushed the heavy glass doors open, and stepped out into the chilly air. Shit, he forgot his jacket in the lab. He would miss curfew if he went back to get it, so he would have to do without it tomorrow. He sighed, and continued his walk down the street. 

A different kind of chill went up his neck, and Peter stuttered in his gait. His Sense was pinging, but it wasn’t the average “Someone’s About to Throw a Spitball at You” alert. This one was bad, and the sensation in his neck was growing stronger. He was holding off on dodging anything, because there were people around, and he would look suspicious if he randomly spun to avoid something.

His attacker held no such restraint. His Spidey Sense screeched, and he decided to blindly dodge an object shooting towards him. It narrowly missed him, and Peter quickly observed that someone had just shot a dart at him. Darts were bad. You never knew what was in them until they hit your body. Peter was about to finally run into the next alleyway when his Sense spiked again. This time, he couldn’t dodge the projectile. The needlepoint edge landed in his left arm, which Peter quickly located and ripped out. 

He wasn’t fast enough. 

He moved to start sprinting, but was immediately overcome with dizziness. He tripped, which was uncommon for him, and fell onto his side. Bile rose in his throat, and he willed himself not to throw up. He could feel his legs lose feeling, his arms already good and gone. He blinked blearily up at the people who passed by, none of them sparing him a second glance. That is, until a mustached man approached him. Peter knew the man wouldn’t help him because his Spidey Sense grew louder and louder as he approached. Peter tried to move backwards, but he was soon reminded of his immobility. The man knelt down, his cold face barely visible as the corners of Peter’s vision began to darken.

“Nice to finally meet you, Spider-Man.”

Peter’s body gave in to unconsciousness.

-

Tony’s phone began to ring. He groaned, he had finally been getting into an alternative way to use his nanotech. He almost blew off the call, but when he looked over at his phone, the caller I.D. read “Hot Aunt May”. Damn, her calls couldn't wait. He set down his tools, and moved over to pick it up. 

“What can I do for ya, miss?” He laid on the charm, in case he was in trouble.

_ “Is Peter with you?” _ came the urgent voice of May.

Tony furrowed his eyebrows. “No? He left about two hours ago. Why?”

_ “Peter isn’t answering his phone, and it’s way past curfew,”  _ she hastily explained.  _ “I called Ned, and he said that Peter wasn’t with him. His old suit is still at home, but is he out in the newer one?” _

A stone settled in Tony’s gut. Something wasn’t right. “No. His suit is inactive.” FRIDAY hadn’t given him a notification otherwise. 

_ “Are we going to have to file a missing persons report, Tony?” _

“No. I’m going to find our kid.”

With that, he hung up. He allowed himself to panic for 3 seconds, before shoving all of his feelings down. His brain was just a stream of  _ Find Peter Find Peter Find Peter _ as he went on autopilot.

“Fri, pull up Peter’s last known location.”

She pulled up a map, not saying a word. There was a spider icon on the street just one block away from the tower.  _ He was that close?  _ Peter disappeared right under Tony’s nose. God, Tony would kick his own ass if he could. What if Peter was kidnapped? That was the most likely explanation, but how could Peter allow that to happen? He was incredibly capable of handling himself. He wouldn’t go down without a fight. Which meant… there might be evidence of his disappearance. 

His suit started to form around him, and he opened a window to fly out of. He asked FRIDAY to pull up the map with Peter’s last location on it, and flew in that direction. If there was anything in that area that even hinted at having something to do with Peter, it could be a lead. It was a short flight and he landed in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Please vacate the area immediately,” the recorded message in his suit announced to the gawking civilians. “There is no danger, but this area must be isolated.” The people stood stock still for several seconds, and Tony was getting impatient. He fired up one of his blasters (just a little threat), and the people around him scurried away. Finally.

He looked around the area, but the street lamps weren’t providing enough light to actually see any specifics. “Fri, be a dear and shine some more light for me.”

She did as he asked, and Tony slowly walked around the sidewalk, shining his light on every little thing. Then, in a pile of mulch housing a sapling, he saw it. A dart. He bent down to pick it up, and immediately noticed the logo on it. The U.S. Department of State.

“FRIDAY. Pull up all recent documentation and news reports on the actions of Secretary Ross.”

-

This is not where Peter wanted to be on a Thursday night. He should be at home with May during one of her few breaks between shifts, not in this shithole. He was in a weird prison, but not really the kind you see in movies. It was a small cell, with one glass wall. That wall had thick horizontal bars on the outside. Peter would’ve tested the glass, if he could get up. Sadly, that was not the case. At the moment, the only parts of his limbs he could feel were his toes and fingers. 

He was cold. They were pumping chilly air through the ventilation system, and he still was without a jacket. He was also hungry. Peter didn't know how long he had been here, but it was obviously pretty late. It was close to 10:30 when he started to walk to the subway, and whatever they shot him with was able to knock him out for a good while. How did they even manage that? Dr. Cho and Bruce had been working for months to try and synthesize a proper sedative for him, but they had yet to succeed. His metabolism was a fucking issue, to be sure. 

Peter snapped his eyes up from his hands when he heard the door being unlocked and opened. In walked a grey-haired man, the same one he saw before he passed out, with a small military posse. Peter knew this fucking guy.

“Secretary Ross, I assume,” he decidedly stated, trying to sound formal.

“That’s ‘sir’ to you,” Ross said with an attempt at a glare.

“Could I use ‘daddy’ instead?” Hell yeah Peter was trying to get a rise out of the man, he was fucking kidnapped. The guy deserved it.

However, Ross’s face didn’t change at all. He nodded to one of his guards, who walked over and knocked Peter hard in the chest with the boot of his gun. Peter didn’t make a sound, only a slight grimace passing his features. Still hurt like shit, though.

“You’re a prisoner here,” Ross snarled. “You will refer to me as ‘sir’.”

“Yeah, uh, where exactly is here,  _ sir?” _

“You’re on the Raft.”

Oh. Okay. That wasn’t good. The Raft was a maximum security prison, often reserved for enhanced persons. The worst of them, actually. This is where the Rogues went after Mr. Stark turned them in, and before he helped them escape. They obviously weren’t the  _ worst,  _ but they committed a crime. Technically. Peter hated thinking about the Sokovia Accords. Which, he reminded himself, were this man’s fault. 

“Alright, then why am I here?” he asked. He was Spider-Man, and Spider-Man helped people. Why would that warrant… an arrest? Is that what this was? Peter was going to lean towards kidnapping anyway. They shot at him with  _ darts. _

“You, Spider-Man,” Ross started as he began to walk towards Peter, “are a criminal. You didn’t sign the accords, which makes you break the law every time you go out and use your powers. Hence, I deemed you dangerous.”

Peter could’ve rolled his eyes. “Dude, have you  _ seen _ what I do out there every night? I stop robberies, help little old women cross the street, get-”

He was cut off by a harsh kick to his chest. He coughed slightly, before Ross spoke again. 

“You’re an inmate here, boy.” The secretary leaned down to meet Peter’s eyes, before continuing in a condescending tone. “Means you’ve done something wrong. You cannot argue with this, seeing as I have the authority to bring in any super that I deem dangerous to society.”

“But-”

Another kick to the chest. Peter thought his ribs cracked. How many more times were they going to do that? 

“Do. Not. Argue.” He emphasized each word with a kick. Another rib snapped. “Learn your place, boy.” He moved on to slamming his foot down on Peter’s fingers. Peter tried so hard to not make a sound, he really did, but the third stomp truly was painful. He whimpered, then bit his lip to prevent any more sounds from coming out involuntarily. 

“What do you say?” Ross leaned in so close Peter could see the small hairs around the man’s mustache where they were regrowing. He could smell his breath. Trident gum, Tropical Twist.

When Peter didn’t say anything, Ross slammed his knee into Peter’s aching ribs. He cried out, groaning, “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Ross stood up, and Peter could hear the man’s joints creaking. “We’ll be back later with some questions. There will be consequences if you don’t cooperate.” With that, the door slammed shut, lock mechanisms being put back in place. 

Peter slumped further against the wall, groaning. With a great amount of effort, he lifted his half-numb arm to cradle his ribs. He let out a harsh breath, trying to tell if his lung had been punctured. The breath hurt, but not in the way it would if his lung had a rib stuck in it. He looked down at his fingers, which were incredibly swollen already and slowly turning purple. Great.

Peter lost track of time, simply thinking. He wondered when he would get back home. He  _ thought _ Mr. Stark would come, but Peter couldn't be completely sure. May probably noticed he was missing, seeing as she should be home by now. She would’ve called Mr. Stark, maybe interrogate him a bit, and the man would feel an obligation to find Peter. Peter knew the man could get him out of there, he had done it before with the Rouges. But what if security increased since then? Mr. Stark would still be able to get past it… right? If the man wasn’t coming, then Peter would have to get out of here himself. That couldn’t be  _ that  _ hard, could it? Just beat up Ross and the guards, and leave. Simple. Except, Peter didn’t know the way out of here, and there would probably be alarms engaged when the other guards saw that he had left. He probably couldn’t get out in time. That, and his limbs were very slow to come back. What the fuck was in that dart? Maybe he could get one to give to Bruce, see if he could make one like it. Maybe without all the nausea and numb limbs, though. 

The door slammed open again, and Peter flinched backwards and hit his head on the wall. Nice. It was Ross and Co.™ again, and this time they had knives. That… wasn’t promising. 

Ross took a chair from one of the men, and a knife from the other, and pulled up next to Peter.

“So,” he began conversationally, “how did you get your powers?”

Peter squinted at him. “Why?”

Ross took the knife and scraped a circle through Peter’s shirt and into his skin. Peter tried to move away, but suddenly there was a guard on the other side of him, pressing his shoe into the teen’s shoulders. Ross took the sharp edge of the knife and pushed it ever so slightly into Peter’s skin.

“How did you get your powers?”

Peter mustered up as much defiance as he could. “I’m not telling you, fuckwad.”

The knife was plunged into his shoulder, and Peter cursed as he felt blood trail down his arm.

“Why don’t you plan on telling me, boy?” the secretary asked innocently. Well, he would be innocent if there wasn’t a knife in Peter’s shoulder right now, and if he didn't add “boy” at the end of his sentence.

“Because,” he grunted out, “there is literally no way you’ll use that information for good.”

“Fine,” Ross shrugged. “Tell me how you make your web fluid.”

“Fuck no.”

Ross moved the knife down to Peter’s hand, and in one fell swoop, sliced off the skin covering his knuckles. Peter gasped, and looked down to see that his bones were visible. 

“I-Is this even fu-fucking leg-al?” Peter panted out, sucking in air through his teeth.

“Anything is legal on the Raft,” Ross smirked.

“I fucking doubt that,” Peter mumbled. That earned him a slice on each of his cheek bones. Blood trickled down is cheek, and all Peter could hope for is that tears didn’t join the mix.

“What are all of your powers?”

“What, do you have a crush on me?” It was a full on stab to the gut this time. Peter shouted out when the knife plunged in, and when it was slowly pulled out. That wasn’t fucking good. He had a shoulder wound that was bleeding at the same time as his gut, and he didn’t know how fast his healing would work, seeing as he was still starving and freezing. They wouldn’t let him die, right? They wanted that information from him. Even if they didn’t care about his life, Mr. Stark would get there in time. He had too. 

“Well!” Ross exclaimed, showing no remorse for what just took place. “I can see that you're not going to be cooperative tonight. I’ll have one of these fine men take a blood sample, and we’ll leave you be. How does that sound?”

Blood samples were on the No No List for Peter- especially with unfriendlies. They could analyze his DNA, maybe figure out how to replicate it. That was less than ideal.

“I actually have a better idea,” Peter hurried to say. “What if, and I'm just spitballing here, you guys didn’t do that? And you can just feed me and drop me off in Queens. Sound good?”

All Ross offered was a humorless laugh. “Phelps, get a sample.”

The man, Phelps, scurried forward. He obviously wasn’t one of the guards- he was scrawny and wearing a cliche white lab coat. Ross swiftly left, all but one of the guards following him. Poor decision making on his part, really.

With a rush of adrenaline that came with not wanting to give up his body’s secrets, he jumped up. Attempted to, at least. He made it, but was extremely shaky on his legs. It felt like a cramp that you got after being too tense for a long time and then you try to walk. Peter refocused as he saw the guard pull out his gun. He leapt forward, grabbed the guy’s head, and smashed it into the wall. The man immediately crumpled to the ground. Before checking that he was alive, he turned around to handle the doctor, who was cowering away. 

“What, corporate not paying you enough for self defense training?” Peter taunted. He took a simple step forward, and the mousy looking man flinched. Peter decided that a gentle bonk on the head would be enough to safely knock this guy out. He was right, and he watched as the doctor collapsed. Immediately after, Peter himself fell down, body making it  _ very  _ clear that it could no longer fight. Regardless, he painstakingly crawled over to the unconscious guard, and checked his pulse on his wrist. Alive, but not without a nasty concussion when he woke up.

Peter let himself fall backwards. He lifted his hand to press down on his stomach wound, barely missing his broken ribs, and tried to staunch the sluggishly bleeding wound. What was the plan now, Peter? Just gonna lay here until Ross and his entourage get back?

Yeah. That sounded pretty good.

He struggled to keep his eyes open. It dawned on him: he might die tonight. He might die and the only one to know how was Ross. That sucked. He would miss his friends, and of course May and Mr. Stark. May didn’t deserve to lose another relative, but Peter was a shitty nephew like that. 

An alarm halted his self pity. He strained to hold his neck up to look outside of his cell and see what was up. He looked at the right time, because he saw the man of his dreams (platonic) run out into the hall Peter was in. The man was suited up, frantically looking around. They made eye contact, and Peter could have squealed. Mr. Stark appeared to shout his name, and he rushed towards the locked door. 

As Peter heard the lock mechanisms unlock, he shut his eyes once more. He was safe now. Mr. Stark would take care of him. He wanted to greet the man with a thanks, but his body didn’t agree with him. 

Peter gave in to unconsciousness just as he heard a muffled shout of “Peter!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to update my other fic today but school said no <3 f y'all, have a slightly ambiguous ending! comments and kudos appreciated <3


	4. Day 4- Impaling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty guys for the love <3  
> screw y'all, this is hardly about the impaling part  
> TWs: depictions of injuries

If Peter had a nickel for every time a building fell on him, he'd have two nickels - which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

What fucking sucked about this time, though, was that his Academic Decathlon team was with him. Meaning they were trapped under a building as well. And Peter was the only one capable of saving them.

It started with a field trip, as most bad things that happen to Peter usually did. Mr. Harrington thought it would be a fun experience to go to the National Museum of Mathematics, even though it was a trip they had in middle school as well. No one dared to object, though, because it was a field trip. Any excuse to get out of school was a good one, even if it was another trip to the MoMath. 

They boarded the bus at 8, soon after school began. Peter took his usual seat next to Ned, with MJ sitting in the seat next to them. Since Peter was on the outside, MJ used that prime opportunity to lay her legs on his lap across the aisle. She made everyone who wanted to get past them step over her legs. Peter didn’t dare object, seeing as not only would MJ kill him, he had to admit it was pretty cute. MJ was often cold and distant to people she didn’t know, but once she started to warm up to you (or in Peter’s case, started dating), she became a lot more touchy. When they were alone, she would let her head fall on his shoulder, folding her arms around his torso, and let their legs entangle. When they were in public, it only dialed down slightly. They often held hands, and she would give him little pecks on his face if he ever did something she deemed adorable. 

“All I’m saying,” Ned was telling him, “is that Rey gets hated on all the time, but it’s mainly all because of misogyny. I mean, the newer movies aren’t even  _ that _ bad!”

MJ, who had apparently been listening as well, nodded. “Exactly. People just don’t like that she is a powerful woman and that’s a change from the older Star Wars movies.”

“Leia was pretty cool,” Peter commented.  
“She was. But she was still saved by some guy,” she lamented. “It’s a common trope, and I hate it.”

“Don’t we all,” Peter agreed. 

Flash popped up from a few seats behind them, calling out, “The Star Wars movies suck, is that all you nerds talk about?”

“If you hate them so much, then why are you so desperate to listen to our conversation?” MJ retorted.

Flash quickly sat back down, and a few other kids snickered. 

Peter gently drummed his fingers against MJ’s crossed ankles as Ned animatedly switched to a rant about the price of good Lego sets. Mr. Harrington, who was previously jamming out to some unknown song from his headphones, stood up to address the bus. 

“Alright folks,” he announced. “We're coming up on the museum now, and I'm going to need you guys to behave yourselves. Flash, don't push around little kids,” a few snickers, “MJ, don't read and walk,” a death glare, “Peter, don't disappear,” a salute, “and everything will be fine. I'm handing out your passes now. Don't unbuckle until the driver has come to a complete stop.” 

He started making his way down the aisle, handing each student a pass that was identical to each other. When he got to MJ’s legs, he stepped over them without hesitation. Respect. The driver stopped in front of the entrance and all of the students unbuckled and clumped to the front. Peter thanked the bus driver and hopped off, joining MJ where she was waiting. They linked hands and started walking when Ned joined them. 

It was exactly as Peter remembered it. It was meant for children, not advanced high school students. He might've liked math, but that doesn't make museums any less boring. The only ones he approved of were the art museums he went to with MJ. They were doing a museum date series where they visited all of the art museums in New York City. Isn’t that the cutest shit you’ve ever heard? MJ would always go on rants about the artist and what that particular piece meant, and Peter would spend more time looking at her than at the stuff on the walls.

They were going past the Tracks of Galileo exhibit when Peter felt a chill go down his neck. Something bad was about to happen. He couldn’t hear anything specific in the distance, and he quickly looked around for his fellow students. They were all going about the same pace as him, and were in his general area. MJ and Ned noticed he stopped walking, and looked at him with concerned faces. He was about to explain what might happen when he was hit by a violent wave of his Spidey anxiety.

“EVERYONE! GET  _ DOWN!”  _

By some miracle, most people actually listened. Just in time for an explosion to cause the building to shake. The supports collapsed. The building fell.

And Peter was stuck holding it.

Maybe not all of it. The exhibit he was standing at with his fellow students had just one piece of the ceiling laying over it, and that was what Peter was supporting. He strained to see the rest of the museum, and from what he could tell, all of them seemed to be alive. Many were crouching down, a foot away from the rubble overhead. Peter knew physics, so he knew all weights can balance if they have one pillar of strength holding them up. It seemed like he was that pillar. 

He could hear the wails of children, and only then did he notice that his section was completely silent. Panicking, he looked around at his teammates.

They were all staring at him.

Right. Peter was holding up a building right now.  _ Fuck. _ He was very clearly not a Normal Student™. But there were other bad things too. Like the fact that he was holding up  _ another _ building. This was heavier than the warehouse, and his arms were already starting to burn. And he had actual people to save this time. And no one was coming for them. God, this was all Peter’s fault. If he just heard the sound of a bomb sooner or noticed his bad feeling earlier then he could’ve gotten some people out and not have them be trapped under the weight of a museum’s rubble and all relying on him to keep them safe but eventually he would grow weak and eventually he wouldn’t be able to hold it up any more and the building to collapse in on itself and it would be his fault that everyone would be dead and oh my god everyone here is going to die and it-

“Peter.” 

MJ’s calm voice filtered through his panicked thoughts. “Peter, you’re doing so great right now. We are all safe. Look around, Peter, we’re all here with you. It’s ok.”

He did as she asked, and he still saw the sea of unharmed faces. There was dust everywhere, including their skin and clothing, but they were unscathed. 

“MJ,” he breathed out.

“I’m here. Are you with me?” He nodded. “Good. Now, I need you to not freak out.” Another nod. “Look down.”

When he turned his eyes downward, he was faced with the gruesome fact that there was currently a large beam from the Galileo exhibit in his thigh. He was met with an onslaught of agony because the adrenaline coursing through his body had prevented him from realizing his situation. 

He looked back over at MJ, who now had Ned sitting down next to her. 

“Em, it hurts,” he panted.

MJ’s face twisted slightly. “I know, Peter. But you’ve gotta stay with us. Focus on something else, we’ll fix that later.”

Luckily, Flash decided that he had a good distraction to provide. From where he was several yards away, the boy called out, “How the absolute  _ fuck _ is Parker holding up a building right now.”

The students started clamoring to get the answer out of him. He winced, the onslaught of noise doing nothing to help his focus and to distract from the agony he was in. Thankfully, MJ shushed them all. Loudly.

“Idiots. He’s got to  _ focus,”  _ she hissed at them. They quieted once more, remembering the current circumstances.

Peter grunted as some of the rubble shifted, and grimaced when he felt more blood slide down his leg. The beam was residing in his right thigh, and it wasn’t like it was a clean insert, of course. It was messy, stuck within his muscles and he could feel every part of the metal embedded in his trembling leg. He was struggling to stay standing, but he didn’t want to let it show for fear of frightening his classmates. 

“Hey man, you still know where you are?” Ned’s voice quietly asked. 

Peter opened his eyes, which he didn't even realize were closed. “Field trip,” he panted. “At some math museum.”

Ned smiled proudly, though his eyes still glinted with concern and fear. Whether it was for Peter or himself, Peter didn’t know.

Flash decided that it was his turn to have the floor again. “Nobody answered my question before. Why is the nerd preventing us from dying?”

This time, none of the students asked the same, instead turning to face Peter expectantly. Ned and MJ did the same, a question in their eyes. Peter sighed. He was this far in already. 

“Fun fact guys, I'm Spider-Man.”

Immediately, Flash snorted, “No you’re not!”

Peter actually laughed. “Dude, do you see me right now? I’m actually holding a fucking building.” He blinked sweat out of his eyes.

“...Right. Um, thanks for that, by the way.”

“Barely an inconvenience,” he groaned. “Hey MJ, how’s my leg looking?” He ignored the shocked whispers from his team that he could hear oh-so clearly.

His girlfriend hissed. “Not good,” she ruefully told him. “I’m surprised you’re still standing.”

“Me too. May not look it, but this really fucking hurts.” The rubble continually shifted, somehow adding more weight to his shaking arms with every second that passed. 

“I know, Peter. I’m sorry.”

“No,” he sighed, “I’m sorry. You’re still okay, right?”

She chuckled. “I’m approximately 30 times better than you right now.”

Peter smiled, and went, “Ned? You good?”

“Y-Yep! Totally chill, man. It’s all good in the neighborhood.” Despite his confident words, the teen’s voice shook. 

Peter fixed him with as serious of glare he could muster. “Ned.”

“Alright, I’m panicking.” At Peter’s nod, he continued. “Like, I know that you’re holding up a building right now and that’s really cool and thank you for that, but. I’m under a building. This really sucks, man.”

Peter winced. “I know. I’m so fucking sorry about this man, I didn’t warn you in time.”

Ned rolled his eyes. “What, did you plant a bomb?”

“No, but-”

“But nothing, man. This wasn’t your fault. You’re saving us all right now.”

“But what about all of those other civilians? They have children over there. I don’t even know if they’re-.” Peter let out a small shout as his knees finally gave out. He held in a scream when the movement dug the beam deeper into his thigh. Correction, he  _ tried _ to hold in a scream. It came out strangled through his clenched teeth. MJ, despite her obvious best efforts, flinched back at the noise before she rushed to comfort Peter.

“I'm sorry, sorry guys, I’m sorry,” he panted out. The ceiling shifted as he went down, and now it was inches closer to everyone else than it was before. 

MJ quickly chastened him. “It’s not your fault, you absolute loser. You’ve been holding that thing up forever. Also, you have a fucking huge piece of metal in your leg. I think you’re entitled to a bit of kneeling down action.”

He wanted to respond with something a little more comforting, but what came out was, “I’m so tired, guys.” Sweat was soaking through his shirt, and his jeans were no longer blue on his right leg. It would be worse if he removed the beam, he knew that, but it was so tempting. The obstruction hurt like  _ hell. _

Ned and MJ shared a look, and Peter saw the other kids do the same.

“Guys,” he called out. “Just letting you guys know, and there's no need to be concerned, but I don’t know how much longer I can hold this thing up.”

Another girl, Betty Brant, spoke up. “Then what are we going to do? Are you gonna let it fall on us?”

Peter yelled at himself in his head. God, was that what he was going to do? He couldn’t let it drop, obviously. But… was he just going to hold onto this forever? He would rather die than let something happen to anyone ales in this room, so… yeah. He was going to hold onto this forever. He had no other choice. 

The weight moved more onto his back, and he grunted. If his back wasn’t as fucked as his leg right now, he’d be surprised. 

“You’re doing great, Peter,” MJ encouraged, but her voice was starting to tremble. “Thank you for doing this.”

“What,” he panted, “you think I would just let you guys die?” He hoped that answered Betty’s question. 

“Of course not. But you did just reveal your identity to our Decathlon team.”

Oh. “Right.” 

MJ said something else after that, but Peter could hardly hear her anymore. All he could focus on was  _ building beam back burning blood bodies.  _ His arms continued to lower, shoulder hunching up past his ears and he almost sobbed. It just hurt  _ so. Fucking. Much.  _

There were shouts among the group of kids, and Peter opened his apparently closed eyes once more, confused. Then the weight started lifting off of Peter. Shit, was he dying? Was this him ascending? Why was the building getting  _ lighter?  _

“MJ?”

“It’s Wanda.” 

MJ had met the Avengers on many occasions, being Peter’s girlfriend and all. Her favorites were obviously the badass women on the team, and she had gotten close with them. Peter was about 84% sure that they had a group chat. So when she said Wanda’s name, he got his explanation. The slab was off his back completely now, coated with the red identifier of Wanda’s magic. There were cheers throughout the museum, but Peter couldn’t focus on them. With the tons of weight off his back, he collapsed.

-

A hospital bed. Peter knew them well. That’s why he was easily able to identify where he was laying. He blinked hard, attempting to clear the cloudiness from his vision. When he was able to see clearly, he noticed his thigh wrapped in thick bandages. Sick, no more beam. 

He jolted as he was reminded of  _ why  _ he was in a Medbay bed. He tried to push himself up, but ultimately failed. Overworked ass arms. He resorted to looking around, which led him to finally notice Ned and MJ slumped in the chairs next to his bed. He heaved a sigh in relief, causing MJ to shift slightly. He froze, and watched as she yawned, stretching her arms as far as possible as she began to wake up. When she was coherent enough, she noticed the exhausted boy in the bed. 

“Peter!” she exclaimed, pounced onto his bed. He refused to make a sound, even though she knocked his leg a bit. She was okay.

He patted her head with a chuckle. “Hey, MJ. How is everyone?”

She looked up at him with a grin. “Everyone - and I mean  _ everyone  _ \- got out safely. Because of you.”

“What happened? Last thing I remember was Betty asking me if I was gonna kill them all.”

“The Avengers caught word of the situation. Stark remembered that you were on that field trip and brought everyone to the museum. Wanda lifted the building, and the others escorted everyone out. Stark carried you home.”

“How embarrassing,” he groaned. “Can’t even hold up a building for an hour.”

“God, Pete, I’m going to kill you. You did amazing. RIP to the Galileo exhibit, though.”

He winced. “You think they want the beam back?” 

“Nah. It can be your souvenir.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Isn't Late, leave me alone lmao. comments and kudos appreciated <3


	5. Day 5- "Take me instead"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's late,, i know,, i apologize,, but i updated my other work today!! yeehaw  
> TWs: implied/referenced torture, description of injuries

The coldness of the ground beneath him is what caused Tony to awaken. He jolted awake, knowing that the chill didn’t feel like the usual cold of his work bench. His head hurt like shit, but when he tried to reach up to feel the head wound, his hands were stopped. He looked down, blinking the bleariness from his eyes, and noticed that his hands were bound to a chain attached to the ground. When he pulled again, the give was only a few inches. Shit. __

“Hey, Mr. Stark!” 

_ Shit. _

Tony whipped his head around, only to be immediately faced with the childish features of Peter. There was mild bruising on his jaw, and when Tony trailed his eyes down the (unchained) kid’s body, there was more extensive bruising on his arms and legs. 

“What happened to you?” Tony frantically asked. 

“They had to put a bit more effort into getting me here than they did with you,” Peter sheepishly explained. 

“Alright, show off. Where is  _ here?”  _

Peter scratched the back of his neck, but immediately winced and pulled his hand away. “Now that… I’m not so sure of. All I know is that we got captured when we were walking to the car from that diner.”

“Right. Another asshole with a grudge must have done it this time.”

As if on cue, the door to their small cell opened. In walked a tanned middle aged man, wearing a nice grey suit with his hair gelled back. Tony thought it looked eerily similar to one of his own. The man had a nice build - he obviously worked out. He would have been handsome if not for the twisted smile on his face, and the malicious glint in his eyes. 

“Hey, Tony!” He exclaimed. His voice had a southern accent, his words crisp and enunciated. “Glad to see you’re awake.”

At his words, Peter jumped up, assuming a fighting stance. The second Peter was up, Mr. Smooth Talk whipped out a gun from within his jacket. He directed it at Tony, and two more bulky men walked into the room, guns at the ready. Peter froze. 

“I don’t think it’s in Tony’s best favor if you try to fight,” the man said with a sudden hardness in his tone. Peter slowly backed down, but he remained standing. “Good!”

“Look, Blake Shelton, I’m gonna need an explanation, cause I-” The sound of several guns cocking filled the room. Tony went silent. 

“You won’t be interrupting anymore,” the man commanded. Tony just glared at him. “Perfect. So here’s what's going to happen. So you know that suit you fly around in all the time? Of course you do. I’m going to need a few of those, and you’re going to build them. Sound good?”

Tony snorted. “How original. No, I don’t think I will.”

“See, I thought you might say that.” He walked towards Peter, who unlike Tony, remained completely still. Tony attempted to reach for his kid, but the chains didn’t allow him much movement. “That’s why I took your little pet as well! Oh sorry. I meant intern.” He smirked at Peter, before using the barrel of his gun to tilt the teen’s chin upwards. Peter remained silent.

“What does he have to do with anything?” Tony snarled. 

“Simple: leverage,” Blake shrugged. “You don’t want to do what I ask, we’ll take young Peter here.”

“You wouldn’t  _ dare.” _

“Oh Tony, you don't know me very well! That’s alright, we did just meet.” He patted Peter on the head before walking over to crouch down in front of Tony. “If you don’t cooperate, you won’t see Peter for a while.”

Tony glanced at Peter, who had a stony look in his eyes. “I’m not doing  _ shit _ for you.” 

“Alright! Boys, grab the kid.” The two men in the back moved forward, launching themselves at Peter. The teen immediately began to struggle, and barely looked like he was held back. Blake aimed his gun at Peter’s knee, whose eyes widened, and took the shot.

“No!” Tony shouted as the bullet ingrained itself into Peter’s kneecap. The boy collapsed, groaning. The cronies were able to pick Peter up from there, one taking his arms, the other taking his legs. Tony tried not to regret his decision, but Blake tugged on Peter’s hair as he continued to struggle. Tony was one of the only people who were allowed the privilege of touching Peter’s hair. Seeing the action hit a nerve in Tony, and apparently Peter as well. The boy bit into the man’s hand as it left his head. Blake ripped his hand backwards, ace twisted in a disgusted expression. He whipped out a knife and shoved it against Peter’s throat. 

“Don’t  _ ever  _ do that again,” he threatened as blood began to pool around the knife’s edge. “You’ll learn your lesson soon enough.”

Peter was roughly carried to the door, Blake following him until he paused a few feet away from his men. “I, for the sake of the kid, hope you change your mind soon. Otherwise, he may learn what Afghanistan was like for you.”

“No, no!” Tony shouted. “Don’t do that to him, fucker! This has nothing to do with him!” The man smirked as he slammed the door shut. “Please… don’t take him. Take me instead,” Tony whispered to an empty room. “Take me instead.”

With every hour that passed, Tony hated that they had Peter more and more. He  _ knew _ that he couldn’t make suits for these people, it would definitely fuck up some lives. So realistically, Peter being with those men was better than making suits. But that knowledge made his blood boil. It was Tony’s fault Peter was getting tortured right now. This had nothing to do with the kid, but Tony roped him into some bullshit experience that’ll probably traumatize him for life. He’s gonna end up like Tony. 

The waiting period might have been better if Tony was able to walk around. Tony hadn’t stopped pulling on his restraints, but he wasn’t Peter. He couldn't just snap the iron. It was a dark thought, but Tony also knew this would be easier if he was injured. He was currently unscathed, other than his unknown head wound. Peter was the complete opposite. He started with a body lined with bruising, and he would come back even worse. Tony took to kicking his foot against his shin harshly whenever his eyes started to droop. It hurt like hell, but absolutely nothing compared to what Peter had to be going through. Blake said Peter would learn about Afghanistan. Tony didn’t even know if the man knew what his three months there were like, but the idea of Peter getting waterboarded killed him inside.

There was a barred window high up in their cell, and Tony could follow the position of the sun through the light it offered. He guessed it had been about 6 hours since Peter was taken from him. They wouldn’t kill him, right? “Leverage” and all that. They wouldn’t kill him, but Tony knew that the kid would come back brutally beaten, a shell of what he was this morning. 

Tony was struggling to think of an escape plan. These guys seemed serious, so he couldn’t be taunting them any more. They took all of Tony’s devices, as well as Peter’s watch. He was just glad that Peter wasn’t wearing his web shooters when they went out for breakfast. His identity would be down the drain. Of course, they were probably going to connect the dots of Peter’s enhancements once they see how fast he heals. But enhancements didn’t directly point to Spider-Man. Wait. They might not mean Spider-Man, but they provided a hint. If Blake thinks about how often Spider-Man teams up with Ironman, or how the kid’s suit was made by Tony, he’ll be able to connect the dots. The man didn’t seem like a total idiot.

Fuck. So now Peter’s identity was on the line, too. These guys were going to have to die. If only Tony could figure out how the fuck they were getting out of here, then he would be able to kill Blake Shelton and his posse. Pete was bound to be too fucked up to be of any help, though. Tony’s last hope was if the team was able to find them. It wasn’t too much of a long shot, they had years of experience tracking people down. Add in the team’s love of Peter, and they would be found in no time. 

Tony kicked himself once more, aiming for the already forming bruise, when he heard footsteps approaching outside of his cell. He looked up, fixing his face with a glare. When the door opened, the glare was replaced with anguish.

Peter didn’t even appear to be conscious. He was being held up by one of the guards from before, his body limp. Water from his hair steadily dripped onto the floor, and if he had a shirt on, it would be sopping wet. But no, the shirt had disappeared, which allowed Tony to see the extent of injuries across the boy’s skin. Burns marred his chest, huge blisters popping up in seemingly random places. The slice along his throat had gotten more horrific, blood trailing for several inches down his pale skin. Tony could make out a few additions to the existing wound on his neck. Knife wounds were etched into his skin like art, tracing along the muscles of the boy’s body. There were many veins that looked like they had been cut open in the process. Bruises heavier than the ones Tony had noticed earlier covered every part of his body, from his face down to his legs. With growing horror, Tony’s eyes were led to Peter’s bloody fingertips. Several nails had been ripped out. When Peter was dragged close enough for Tony to see the poorly made stitches holding the teen’s stomach together, he was dropped without any care next to Tony. This elicited a groan out of Tony, making the man flinch backward. Peter was still awake. And alive, for that matter. 

“We’ll be back for him in the morning,” Blake casually told him. “He was a real hoot to have around. We all placed bets on how long it would take for him to start screaming.” He and his men walked towards the door once more. “It took longer than we thought.”

“Fuck you,” Tony called out as the door shut. He turned his attention to the limp boy on the ground next to him. “Pete?”

The kid stirred, whimpering. After a few seconds, he whispered, “Mis’er S’arr?” His words were slurred, and his voice cracked. 

“Hey, kiddo. I’m here. How you feelin’?” Stupid question.

Peter coughed dryly, grimacing. “Coul’ be worse.”

A tear slipped down Tony’s cheek. “How could you be worse, Pete?”

“Coul’ still be wi’ ‘em. Coul’ be dead.”

Tony flinched backwards. “Don’t say that.”

“‘S true.” Peter then attempted to get closer to Tony. He groaned with effort, but he was able to get his torso close enough to lay his head on the man’s shoulder. “‘M goin’ to sleep now, Mis’er S’ark. Wake m’ up for breakfas’.”

Tony sighed, and shifted to kiss Peter on top of his wet hair. “Night, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter doesn't die screw you. i j left it like that for Dramatic Effect™. comments and kudos appreciated <3


	6. Day 6- Insomnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty guys for the love <3  
> honestly just expect that all of these will probably be late  
> TWs: referenced character death, referenced sexual assault and rape. stay safe <3

It was 2 a.m. Peter really shouldn’t have been awake, but it wasn’t out of the ordinary. In fact, this happened most nights. 

He was sitting at the kitchen table, a hot chocolate in his right hand,  _ Matilda  _ in his other. It was one of his favorite books ever since he was a little kid, and he could read it over and over. He didn’t really understand why he liked it so much. Maybe it was the fact that Matilda had to keep her powers a secret, like Peter. But that didn’t explain why he liked it so much even before he got his powers. Maybe it was the idea of having a happy ending, even if your life was shit. Come to think of it, Peter first got  _ Matilda _ not long after his parents died, so it might make sense if the latter was true.

He was just at the part where Matilda and Lavender catch a newt for the Trunchbull’s water when he started to itch for an activity. He had been sitting for a long time. He didn’t want to wake up Mr. Stark though - the man was sleeping for the first time in 48 hours. Upsettingly, Peter had been up for just as long, and he was still restless. He sighed, and set his book down. He carried his mug over to the sink and dumped it out. Peter got his hands wet and splashed himself on the face a few times (which was never as easy as the commercials made it seem, by the way). 

“Fri?” he whispered. “Is anyone in the gym right now?”

“No, Peter.” She matched the volume of his voice.

“Great.” He walked towards the elevator, and got in. “Could you please take me there?”

Instead of answering, the elevator just started moving downwards. He leaned against the wall and scrubbed against his eyes. He massaged them until spots of purple and green filled his vision, then watched as the colors dotted around.

The elevator dinged, and Peter moved to enter the gym. He went straight to the enhanced punching bags, and took a deep breath as he made his first hit. 

See, Peter always had a lot on his mind. Whether it was during the day or while he should be sleeping, his mind was running circles around itself. It was sometimes an issue, seeing as it caused him to zone out during classes, or even in the middle of a conversation. Or it would make him stay up all night for no reason. It’s not like he always had the gym to go to when he felt restless, either. He was only at the compound on weekends. During the week, Peter had to find things around his apartment to entertain himself. Pacing on the ceiling got boring after a while. The only times he had to be in bed were when May didn’t have a full night shift and she was home.

May worked all the time, it seemed. She had to compensate for the price of the rent of their Queens apartment, and for the cost of all the food Peter ate. He just ate so fucking much. It made him feel really guilty, watching as May always waited until he was done piling his plate to get her own food. That was only when they were able to eat together, of course. That wasn’t often. She usually slept and ate while he was at school. Her sleep schedule was fucked, but she was still able to sleep at night. She was just that exhausted.

Of course, Ben dying didn’t help their financial situation at all. That was when they truly started living paycheck to paycheck. That was when May took up all the extra shifts. She barely allowed herself any time to mourn. She took a day or two off work, but that was it. Peter thought it was only fair that he allowed himself the same amount of time, so he went back to school quickly. He wasn’t ready to, obviously. He had panic attacks when kids dropped their books in the hallway. He often zoned out when it began to rain, thinking back to the droplets of rain mixing with his tears that night. But he continued to go to school anyway. If May was working 12 hour shifts in the E.R., then Peter could handle a few tests. 

Peter tried to get a job, once. It didn't end very well. He was 14, so he got this weird and probably illegal job of cleaning the showers at this random gym in Queens. He worked just long enough to receive his first and only paycheck before he quit. He often had to clean the showers while the gym was still open, for some reason. Old men who use the gym on Thursday afternoons could be quite creepy. Bold in their actions, and finding absolutely no problem in checking out the freshman who was cleaning the vacant shower next to them. After one of them got frighteningly handsy with him, Peter left all of his cleaning supplies there and rushed home. As soon as he got to the apartment, he ditched his clothes and ran into the shower. He stayed in there for about an hour, letting the scalding hot water run over his skin until it became too cold to bear. 

It reminded Peter of Skip. The only thing the creep at the gym did was latch onto the back of his thigh, but soon enough, Peter couldn’t shake the memory of Skip doing so much worse than that. The shower he had resembled the ones he took when he was a child to use as some form of therapy. He hated using his hands to wash himself, they felt exactly like Skip’s when he closed his eyes. He got Ben to buy him a loofah to scrub at his skin instead. Peter didn’t know if Ben understood the whole meaning of the purchase, but his eyes were sad anyway. He and May were understandably furious at Skip when they found out what happened. Peter didn’t tell them, no. May saw the blood on his crumpled up underwear, and soon connected the dots. They were almost as upset with themselves as they were with Peter’s abuser. Peter didn’t like that , but he didn’t think he was ever able to truly convince them it wasn’t their fault. At the same time, they were working to convince Peter it wasn't  _ his _ fault. Sometimes Peter still struggled with understanding that. 

The punching bag broke. Peter flinched back, not expecting the flood of sand to spill onto the floor. 

“Dammit,” he sighed as he bent down to pick it up. He tried to scoop some sand back into the hole.

“Language.”

Peter whipped around, clicking his webshooters together to activate them. He fired on instinct, four shots to attach each limb to the wall. 

“You know, when I came down to the gym at three in the morning, I wasn’t really expecting to have to deal with this.” And oh, Peter knew that voice.

“Mr. Stark!” he exclaimed as he rushed forward. “Oh my god, I am  _ so _ sorry. I totally didn’t mean to do that. You just snuck up on me, I thought you were someone else.” He fumbled to switch the settings on his webshooters to the dissolving spray.

“I actually didn’t sneak up on you, fun fact. I've been standing here for about five minutes. Hell, I even announced my presence.” 

Peter didn’t look up from where he was dissolving the webs on his mentor’s ankles. “I didn’t hear you. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Really in the zone there, kid. What’s up?”

“Oh, you know how it is. Felt like getting a workout in.”

“I, too, enjoy breaking open punching bags in the wee hours of the morning,” Mr. Stark dryly stated. “Without wrapping my hands, of course.”

Peter looked down at his knuckles, which were painted with a deep red. “Oops.” He didn’t even notice.

Mr. Stark fell off of the wall once he was no longer attached, but he landed on his feet. He stepped closer to Peter, but the teen shifted away slightly. The man froze.

“Kid. Why are you awake?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Peter said, crossing his arms.

“FRIDAY told me your heart rate was elevated,” Mr. Stark raised an eyebrow.

“Snitch,” he muttered. “I just can’t sleep.”

“And you decide to take it out on that poor punching bag?”

“Well, what else was I supposed to do! I couldn’t sleep, and eventually reading wasn’t enough to distract me.”

“Distract you from what?” the man softly asked.

Peter waved his hand over his head. “Thoughts. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.”

“It does if you didn’t even realize I was here.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Mr. Stark sighed, pulling his hand down over his face. “Alright. We don’t have to. But we could do something else to keep you occupied, yeah?”

“‘We’? You’ve gotta sleep.”

“Eh, I got a few hours in. If you’re not sleeping, I’m not sleeping.”

“This is why I didn’t want to wake you up,” Peter groaned. “But you’re not gonna budge, are you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Nope,” he answered, popping his “p”.

Peter sighed, looking back down at his hands. “Fine.”

“Great!” the man exclaimed. “Fri, be a doll and pull up  _ The Empire Strikes Back _ in the living room.” They exited the gym, getting into the elevator.

“Will do,” she acknowledged.

“You know me so well,” Peter hummed.

“Yeah, well, we’ve only seen it about 67 times.”

They didn’t sleep the rest of that night. Peter still had to be pulled out of his thoughts by a gentle comment by his mentor. But it was alright. They were together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos appreciated <3


	7. Day 7- Truth Serum (alt prompt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty guys for the love <3  
> i didn't know how to write poisoning so i did one of the alternative prompts  
> TWs: past rape (discussed), panic attack, mentions of alcohol use. stay safe <3

Avengers game night happened twice a month, and Peter was always invited. He always tried to go, seeing as they were the  _ Avengers.  _ Who wouldn’t want to have a game night with them? The games they played ranged from Candyland to binge drinking games. Tony was allowed to sit out the drinking games, or he could join Peter with his fruit punch and cinnamon mix. The drink was disgusting, and provided the same amount of motivation alcohol did.

This Friday, they were sitting on the floor in the common room, Clint with a mischievous grin on his face. It was his night to choose the game. 

“So!” he exclaimed. “Tonight, we’ll be doing something a bit different.” He pulled out a small bottle of a clear liquid from behind him. “We’ll be using this.”

Bruce’s eyes widened. “Wha- Hey! Is that my truth serum?”

“You have a truth serum?” Peter asked, shocked. “Why would you have a truth serum?” How did he even make it? Peter thought those only existed in movies. But, then again, he thought aliens only existed in movies until a couple of years ago. 

“It’s just something I thought would be useful when interrogating people,” the doctor explained. “We can’t just use Natasha every time we want information out of people.” Said woman looked smug. 

Mr. Stark threw a hand over his heart. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this, Brucie! I could’ve figured out who switched the coffee to decaf a few days ago.”

Bruce waved him off. “Whatever. I think it was Rhodey.” He ignored Mr. Stark’s gasp. “Clint, how did you even get that?”

“You guys always forget that I used to be a spy for SHIELD,” Clint scoffed. “Just because Nat is more scary than me doesn’t mean I can’t do some shit in secret.”

“Do we even know it works?” Rhodey wondered. 

“Yeah,” Nat affirmed. “I tested it on birdbrain earlier. He confessed to thinking the live action Mulan movie was a genuinely good movie.”

“Pause,” Sam pointed at her. “You knew before us?”

She shrugged. “Of course.” 

Sam nodded, and sighed, “Right. Of course you did.”

“Anyway,” Clint went on, “the good doctor made this thing digestible, so everyone take a shot and pass it around.” He then proceeded to take his own sip, grimacing. He handed it to Nat, who took it with a straight face. She passed it to Steve, who hesitated. 

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” He raised a brow. “Because if Bruce intended for this to be used for criminals, then maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

Bruce shrugged, a resigned look on his face. “I have more. Besides, this can’t be the worst thing we’ve done on game night. Remember Monopoly?”

Peter shuddered. That had gotten a bit too violent for his comfort. If Pepper hadn’t stepped in at just the right moment, he was sure it would’ve resulted in a Civil War 2.0.

Steve answered by taking his reluctant shot. Sam was much faster to agree. It was now Peter’s turn, and he took a sip, if not only because Steve had agreed. He didn't  _ really  _ want to do this - he had some things he’d rather keep close to his chest. But it’s not like everything had to be revealed right? That shit may not come up. The liquid was foul tasting, worse than the non alcoholic drink he had on a few game nights. He handed the bottle to Mr. Stark, who downed it like it was nothing. Rhodey winced slightly, and Bruce did the same. The bottle returned to Clint, who was grinning like a madman once more.

“It hurts if you try to lie or even hide the truth, so don’t,” he warned. “We’ll go around in a circle, and we’ll each ask a question for the group. Everyone will respond, and we’ll move on. The serum lasted about two hours for me, give or take. Ready?” The group nodded. “Alright, I’ll go first, give y’all a warm up. Has anyone ever dined and dashed?”

Nat nodded. As did Steve, Sam, Rhodey, and Mr. Stark. 

“Steve?” Clint questioned. “I thought you were Mr. Righteous.”

The captain shrugged. “Lived through the Great Depression, Mr. Spy. Sometimes it was the only way I could get food.”

“Ah.”

“Me next,” Nat interrupted. “Who here is  _ genuinely  _ afraid of me?”

Sam, Mr. Stark, Steve, Clint, and Rhodey said they were. She nodded, but then asked, “To those who aren't: why?”

It was just Peter and Bruce. Peter started, “You sing me lullabies when I can’t sleep. You’re more comforting than scary.” She smiled at him. 

Bruce cleared his throat. “Uh, we kinda almost dated there for a while. And, I don’t know, you help calm me down from the Hulk.”

“Woah, you guys dated?” Sam asked, his face completely bewildered. 

“You weren’t around back then,” Nat huffed. 

Steve went next. “Has anyone ever cheated on their partner?”

Nat spoke up, “I have.”

“Nat!” Peter gasped. “Why?” 

“Technically, we weren’t really dating. It was for an assignment. My cover involved me dating this one inconsequential guy, but I had to fuck someone else for intel.”

“Woah, woah,” Sam held up his hands. “Children present Nat.”

“Couldn’t help it. Besides, he’s heard worse.” Peter nodded, eyes wide. 

“Whatever,” Sam huffed. “If we’re playing it like that, then riddle me this: who here is still a virgin?”

Shit. Nope, no, full stop, this was not what Peter wanted to happen right now. None of the adults raised their hands, and they all slowly turned towards Peter, who was attempting to put his own arm up. Each time he tried, his stomach lurched and a bright burst pain ran through his arm. He eventually gave up, staring daggers into the ground. 

Mr. Stark raised an eyebrow at him. “Kid, you’re 16. When did you lose your virginity?”

Peter groaned instead of answering right away. Bile rose in his throat, but he was still putting all of his effort into resisting the serum. He might’ve been crying, but his mind was unable to focus on not making a scene. All coherent thoughts were blurred with pain. A burning sensation pulsed through his veins, and holy fuck, why did Bruce make this. He couldn’t tell them, he couldn’t tell them, he couldn’t tell them, he-

“N-N-Nine. Nine years o-old,” He choked out. The aching stopped, and he collapsed backwards onto the ground. It was no longer pain that made the tears run down his face. It was shame. 

A collection of gasps filled the room. He saw Nat get up and walk to the corner of the room before he shut his eyes. But then a hand touched his knee, and his eyes flew open once more. He grabbed the hand and ripped it away, before tripping over himself to get back. His vision cleared, and he saw Mr. Stark, hand frozen in midair, with a stricken look on his face. 

“Sorry!” Peter panted. “Sorry, I-I'm sorry. I thought y-you were some- someone else.”

“Who?” the man gently asked.

“Babysitter,” Peter gasped out. “S-Skip. Skip, uh, W-Westcott.” He didn’t want to give the name. But he did, and there was no going back.

Mr. Stark had a murderous glint in his eyes, and Peter shifted back slightly. “What happened.” It wasn’t a question.

Sam jumped in, interrupting, “Tony, I’m not sure if we should make him-”

He was cut off by Peter’s shout of agony. The teen’s hands clutched his head, his eyes squeezed shut. Then, like it broke through a dam, the truth serum won.

“He was s-supposed to be m-my friend. I thou-thought he was m-my friend. He played games with m-me. But th-then the games he wanted to play turned s-sex-sexual. I-I didn’t want t-to. He, uh, he r-raped me for m-months.”

The room was silent. Peter trembled so violently that the chattering of his teeth could be heard all throughout the room. He looked so much younger than he had not 20 minutes ago. He was curled up in a ball, head tucked down, panting. The rate at which he was breathing was worrisome. The group of heroes were shaken to their core. Peter was a rape victim.

“Can I come closer, kid?” Mr. Stark whispered.

Peter tensed, and shook his head.

“What about me, маленький паук?” came the gentle voice of Natasha. Peter lifted his head, and saw that she had come back into their circle. This time, he nodded. Nat was nothing like Skip. She wasn’t even the same gender. The feel of her hands against his skin was so different from the tight grip of Skip’s rough hands.

She softly walked forward, and knelt down. She held out her hand, keeping her movements slow and visible. Her nails had a gold shimmer on them. Skip would never dare to paint his nails. Peter tracked her hand with his eyes as it landed on his shoulder. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. Peter could feel the chill of her hands through his light T-shirt. He looked up to see her face. Her nose was a bright red, and her cheeks were stained with fresh tears. Her eyes held only compassion. So,  _ so _ different from the malicious glint in Skip’s eyes when Peter was forced to make eye contact. She opened up her other arm, and he dove into her hold. Tears had been consistently running down his face, and they weren’t going to stop now.

“Can you tell me who I am, Peter?” 

“Natasha. You’re Nat. N-Not Skip,” he whispered.

“That’s right. Where are you right now?” she softly asked, tightening her hold around him. It was grounding, but not tight enough that he felt like he was trapped.

He knew what she was doing, but he didn’t care. It was helping. “Tower. On the floor.”

“What does the floor feel like, Peter? Is it hard or soft?”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Soft. I like this carpet.”

She hummed, and the vibration coursed through Peter. “I do, too. How do you feel right now?” She started to rock him back and forth.

“Head hurts. ‘M tired.”

“Alright, маленький паук. You want to rest your eyes for a bit?” He nodded against her chest, already closing his eyes. “Goodnight, Peter.”

Natasha didn't stop hugging him even after he was asleep. She looked up to face the heroes surrounding her. Not one of them wasn’t crying. Tony was running his hands through his hair, whispering to himself. Sam was pacing. Rhodey, Bruce, and Steve hadn’t moved from their spot, frozen. Clint had his arms wrapped tightly around himself. The truth serum bottle laid forgotten behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> маленький паук- little spider (russian google translate)  
> comments and kudos appreciated <3


	8. Day 8- "Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty guys for the love <3  
> TWs: hypothermia? if that counts

The spider bite gave Peter a shit ton of cool powers. Super strength, super senses, super speed, the ability to stick to any surface, enhanced healing ability, the works. He also had this sixth sense thing that let him know when something Crummy™ was about to happen, which he dubbed his Spidey Sense. But along with those cool powers, he got some not so cool ones as well. His metabolism was super fast, which meant that not only did he have to constantly be eating to keep up with it, no medicine worked on him. Although, sometimes that was a plus because people’s attempts at drugging him almost never worked out. He was also allergic to peppermint. Like, really allergic. Like if he didn’t get treatment in time, he would be as close to death as he could get without actually dying. The super senses were also as much as a curse as they were a blessing. When you could hear, see, smell, taste, and feel  _ everything,  _ super senses weren’t that appealing. The last thing that he inherited from that spider that bit him was the inability to properly thermoregulate. 

It wasn’t  _ too _ big a deal. He just couldn't maintain his temperature like normal humans could. When it was hot, he couldn’t cool himself down. When it was cold, he couldn’t warm himself up. He learned that he couldn’t thermoregulate pretty early on. He was a nerd for his powers when he first got them and he researched spiders for hours to try and figure everything out. When he had to dress in an unbelievable amount of layers for the winter, he remembered that arachnids either hibernated or died during the winter. He connected the dots fairly quickly.

Mr. Stark knew that he struggled to keep a healthy temperature. The first occasion was when Peter almost got hypothermia when he was dumped into the Hudson River by the Vulture. After that point, the man made sure that his suit had a heating and cooling system, and that he was up to date on all of Peter’s other powers.

That didn’t mean that the systems always worked. Sometimes they shut down. In the middle of an Avengers mission. In Russia. Where it’s cold as fuck.

The mission had started out  _ fine. _ It was just a HYDRA base raid, simple enough. It was a small base - they just needed to gather some information, then take it down. The only thing was, the information they needed to acquire was a major HYDRA hit list. Such a major hit list, that the security system in place was no joke. They needed to stake it out a little before breaking in. 

The team was made up of Peter, Mr. Stark, Steve, Nat, Clint, and Sam. Rhodey was busy in Washington, they didn’t think that the Hulk was necessary, Thor was off-world, and Bucky wasn’t too keen on returning to a HYDRA base. The flight to Russia was smooth, Steve only having to go over the plan once. Stake out the base in assigned positions for a few hours, then Sam goes in and takes his aerial shots. Clint takes out the observed weaponry. Then the team goes in, Nat gets the intel, and they go. Easy.

Upon arrival a few miles from the base, they divided into their usual pairs. Peter was with Mr. Stark, and they were to stay beneath a small cliff near the base. The base was nestled in a valley, with steep mountains looming over it. Unknown weaponry was located within and surrounding it.

_ “Alright, team,”  _ Steve’s voice crackled on the comms.  _ “Everyone in their designated positions?” _

A collection of affirmations sounded out, including both Peter and Mr. Stark as they landed at their spot.

“Well, would ya look at that!” his mentor pointed out. “We’ve got a nice little cave!”

“I can see, too, Mr. Stark.” It was a rather conveniently placed cave. It was deep and dark, but that was probably preferred. They both had lights residing in their suits, it was fine. And it provided a nice hiding space should they be seen somehow. They weren’t tasked with the duty of figuring out whatever was going on with the base, so they had the option to do a little pre-mission rest and relaxation. 

“Just thought I would point it out,” Mr. Stark mumbled. “You know, in case you were more focused on the beautiful scenery surrounding us.”

“Yeah, yeah.” They walked inside, and Peter sat down against the chilled wall of the cave. “What’s keeping us from just falling asleep right now?” he asked.

“We’re the backup in case something goes horribly wrong.”

“Boring.”

They talked for a while, going over the plan once more, but then just moving on to normal conversation points. Peter had a test in history the next day, but he felt alright about it. World War II was pretty easy when you’ve got two primary sources living in your household. 

There had been intermittent chatter on the comms ever since they arrived at their locations, but without warning, it came to a halt. Peter’s comm went dead silent. It was an unusual sound, silence. He looked up to question Mr. Stark when the HUD in his mask flickered off. The heating system in his suit sputtered to a halt. His suit had been powered down.

From the looks of it, so had Mr. Stark’s. His usually bright and glowing casing was now neither of those things, and the light he had been emitting dimmed to nothingness. Thankfully, he was still able to get out of it, the nanotech breaking away.

“So, this isn’t good,” he stated when he was remaining in his civvies. Thankfully, the man was dressed warmly, with several visible layers.

“You think? What do you think caused it?” Peter asked.

“It looks like an EMP blast hit us.”

Peter sighed. “HYDRA.”

“Must be.”

“What are we gonna do?” Peter paced around the cave.

“Your webshooters still work right?” At Peter’s nod, Mr. Stark went on, “Swing over to the jet and see if you can get anything to work over there.”

“The area looked pretty barren out there,” Peter pointed out, tilting his head towards the exit. “No trees, and I can't swing on ice.”

“So, what? Are we just going to stay here?”

Peter shrugged, ignoring the pit in his stomach and the goosebumps on his arms. “It’s what we were going to do anyway. I’m sure the others can handle the mission on their own, yeah? They can get us when it’s complete.”

“Yeah, but what about-” Peter held up his hand to stop the man, furrowing his eyebrows. “What?”

“I hear something,” Peter muttered, eyes closed. It was almost like… a rumbling. A rumbling? Yeah, and some shaking. Wait. He snapped open his eyes right as Mr. Stark looked like he was going to say something. “I think there’s gonna be an avalanche.”

The man’s eyes widened. “What, here? Now?” 

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Uh, soon.” He ran to the exit, looking up. What he saw was not a pretty sight. A piece of the cliff above them had fallen off and tumbled into the snow on the mountain below it. A little ways away from where he and Mr. Stark were currently standing.

“I hear it,” the man announced.

Peter turned to him, panic building. “What’s the plan?”

“Well we just determined that we can’t just  _ leave!  _ We, uh, I guess we just stay here.”

“Sounds a bit dangerous,” Peter commented, already backing away from the ledge. 

“Kid, I’ve never been in an avalanche before, so I don't-” 

Peter yelped as he saw a giant piece of ice fall down outside their cave. He hurried backwards, just in time for him to watch the exit quickly be encased with white. Snow rushed down, soon obstructing the small amount of light that had been in the cave. Some snow came into the cave powdering the ground, blocking up the hole. This went on for almost another 30 seconds, until it all finally settled. The cave was dark.

“Would this be a bad time to mention that I’m a bit chilly?” Peter wondered aloud into the quiet. 

Mr. Stark gave a bitter laugh, before he abruptly stopped. “You’re cold.”

“Yeah.” Chills ran up and down his entire body.

“Your heater isn’t working.”

“No.”

“Shit. Come here, kid.” Peter held out his arms, squinting. He could slowly begin to see a bit more, his enhanced eyes adjusting to the lack of light. He found the shape of Mr. Stark, and latched onto him just in time for a violent shiver to knock through his body. “Alright, Pete. We’re sitting.”

“Oooh, are we a-about to cudd-cuddle?’ His teeth were chattering.

“Never in a million years,” the man swore, even as he wrapped his arms tightly around the teen. “Alright, kid. Focus on not being cold.”

“Y-Yeah. Let me j-j-just acquire s-some warmth.” He huddled towards Mr. Stark more. 

“How about a distraction, yeah? I could tell you about some college adventures.”

“Oh, y-yeah. Like I-I’ve never hea-rd those before.”

“Shut it, twerp,” the man fondly scolded. “So, to preface, none of this was my fault. All Rhodey.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but nodded against the man’s chest anyway. With some difficulty. His teeth felt like they were going to break with how hard they were clacking together. His limbs were already stiff, and it required a great amount of effort to simply nod his head. He let his thoughts drift as Mr. Stark regaled whatever story he pulled out of his ass this time. He hadn’t been this cold since the river. If he got hypothermia now, then it would still be a while before the Avengers were able to even find them. The mission always took priority, and for all they knew, the mini avalanche didn’t even happen. As a violent shiver jerked his body closer to Mr. Stark, he decided something probably had to change.

“Hey M-Mr. Stark,” he interrupted. “I-I-I read s-somewhere th-that skin on s-skin contact i-is b-bett-er for warming s-someone up.”

The man paused his story. “Are you  _ sure?”  _

“Cour-Course. M-Might’ve been a-an ac-cademic jour-nal.”

“Alright, Pete. Take off your suit, then.”

Peter struggled to strip, his arms and legs trembling aggressively. When he was finally able to pull the top of his suit down, he tumbled back down to Mr. Stark, who also removed his shirt and jacket. When Peter was settled against his chest once more, the man laid the clothes on top of his shaking body.

“Better?” he asked.

“Maybe. My sh-shivering is kinda going away.” Peter allowed himself to bury his head into the Mr. Stark’s arm.

“Wait, kid. That’s not supposed to happen. C’mon, you know your biology. What’s the second stage of hypothermia?”

“Learned that a f-few years ago,” he hummed. “Patient stops shivering, and consciousness becomes impaired.”

“Kid,” Mr. Stark demanded. “Peter.” He hummed again. “I can’t feel you shivering.”

“Mmm. Maybe ‘m not cold anymore.”

“Somehow I doubt that. You can’t go unconscious, Pete. It’ll be hard to know if you’re even alive if you do. Your organs might fail.”

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “My organs won’t fail! My organs are tough… strong. Strong organs.”

“Maybe they’ll stay strong if you stay awake, kid. I know you can.”

“A mistake to believe in me, really,” he mumbled. “Learn your lesson.”

“Pete, could you tell me what your favorite colors are?” Peter didn’t pick up on the urgency lacing the man’s tone.

“I liiike… red! And blue. My suit is red ‘n blue.”

“Yeah, it is. When did you get that suit?”

“Ben liked blue, too. Heyy, blue too! Rhymes,” Peter giggled.

“Peter, did you hear my other question? When did you get your new suit?”

“I miss Ben. You think I’ll see him again?”

A sharp intake of breath. “Not today, Pete, sorry.”

“Mmmm. ‘S okay. I think I’m gonna take a nap now, though.” 

“Hey, hey,” Mr. Stark rushed to say, borderline hysterical. “This is no time to sleep.”

“Then why ‘s it dark out? Silly. Time for bed!”

Mr. Stark began to roughly shake Peter, whose head just lolled around. “Peter. Peter! Kid, don’t fall asleep. Gotta stay with me for a little while longer.”

“Shhhh. You always say to sleep more, M’ Stark. Gotta sleep.” 

Peter finally went limp in Tony’s unwavering hold, unable to hear the pleads for him to wake up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shooo yeah. that was shit,,, anyway. i actually looked up stuff for the hypothermia things so. yeah.  
> comments and kudos appreciated <3


	9. Day 9- Buried Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty guys for the love <3  
> gang!! this sucks!! and its late!! i am, so sorry  
> TWs: buried alive, glossed over description of a decomposed body

_ Kill Bill  _ was an undeniably good movie. Well, technically two movies, but whatever. Besides Star Wars, Peter was into action movies and comedies. He could watch  _ Kill Bill  _ a hundred times and still be entertained. 

That didn’t mean he ever wanted to reenact any of the scenes, though. Let’s be honest, it was about a woman who went on a revenge murder spree. Peter didn’t kill, and he wasn't vying for revenge. Plus, Kiddo got herself in some pretty shitty situations. She almost died  _ so many damn times.  _ And hey, Peter has, too. But at least he didn’t have to add getting buried alive to the list of ways he had almost died.

Until he did.

He didn’t even know how the fight ended up in a graveyard. Maybe the baddie of the night just really liked Halloween. Peter didn’t really get the chance to ask him. The villain was strong. Granted, not as strong as Peter, but Peter was holding back. This guy wasn’t. Peter always restrained himself from using his super strength to the max against the people he was fighting. He didn’t want to kill them, no matter how much they tried to kill  _ him.  _ This guy was taking the whole “I want to kill you” thing a bit too literally by transitioning the fight to the graveyard.

Peter didn't want to admit it, but this guy was starting to overtake him. His hits were calculated and precise, clearly having plenty of training under his belt. Not to mention his powers. Super strength, obviously, and a dash of super speed. Wildly, he was able to flick out ropes of electricity from his arms. They hurt like shit when they made contact with Peter, and caused him to slow down for a few good seconds. 

It was after one of these electric hits when Peter learned that the ropes could wrap themselves around him. Mr. Electric Skeleton man twisted the electricity around Peter’s right leg and yanked him down. Peter panted, resisting the urge to scream. The cable burned into his calf and prevented him from moving upwards. The unfriendly casually walked up to him, resolutely ignoring his own limp, apparently. When he made it to Peter, the teen thought that he was going to try to finish him off. However, he just limped past Peter, moving to one of the graves behind him. The guy materialized a shovel from behind one of the tombstones, and started digging.

“Woah!” Peter shouted. “Grave robbing is illegal, man. So is everything else you’ve done tonight, but yikes.”

Par for the course, the man ignored him. He hadn’t spoken the entire night. Peter thought it added to his creepy vibe. Peter knelt in silence for a good 10 minutes. Every time he shifted, the bind on his leg would grow in length and get tighter. His skin was definitely almost completely seared away on his calf. He could hardly feel the limb anymore. It was just burning.

Peter startled when the shovel was thrown to the side a few feet ahead of him. He turned over his shoulder, eyes widening as he took in the scene. The grave was completely dug out, the lid to the coffin wide open. Except, there weren't any remains in the coffin. No, those were above ground next to the tombstone. Peter shied away, grimacing. No offense to that dead person, but that was kind of disgusting. 

It was when the man knelt down next to Peter to scoop him up that his mind finally connected the dots. He was replacing the remains. He was picked up, and immediately thrashed in the strong hold. The villain’s arms simply tightened, and another bright cable emerged from his arm. This one wound itself around his arm and Peter gasped, more electricity surging through him. Shit, that hurt. As he struggled to maintain a healthy breathing pattern, Creepy Guy walked to the open grave. Peter looked down into it, and renewed his escape efforts. Six feet was a lot more than he pictured. 

Despite his constant and painful thrashing, he was eventually dumped into the open grave. The electric lassos, which were still attached to him, pulled taut with his weight. He groaned loudly, dangling a few inches away from the casket. The ropes were the only things supporting him, and they dug more into his skin with each passing second. They were going to make ugly scars. 

The man released him, and he fell into the coffin with a dull thud. He bit his cheek, immediately slicing into it, to prevent any sounds of pain. His suit had burned away from the constant contact with the electricity, and the cold air burned against his open skin. He laid there, too twitchy to move properly, as he saw the lid of the coffin get slammed on him. Something heavy was whacked along the edges of the container, sealing it shut.

It was at that moment that Peter’s circumstances truly set in. He was being buried alive. He tried to move around in the coffin, but he was only allowed a few inches of wiggle room. Then he heard the tell tale sound of dirt being dumped on top of him. Nope. Nah. Not good. Pounds of dirt getting dumped onto him was Not Ideal. But he didn’t know what to do. He had zero experience with getting buried alive. Nad he knew that sooner rather than later, his oxygen supply would run out. He was in a small enclosed space underground. No fresh air anytime soon. 

He wanted to panic. He felt like he deserved it, really. But hyperventilating was not a risk he could take. He didn’t know how long it would be until he was able to get out. The dirt stopped raining down on him, and Peter could hear through the feet of earth that the man started to walk away. The fucker was  _ whistling. _ Peter’s No Kill Policy seemed a bit annoying at the moment.

Alright. WWBKD? What Would Beatrix Kiddo Do? No talking. He had to conserve air. Search for a crack in the wood. He did so, substituting his enhanced vision for her flashlight. No cracks. That was fine, this could still work. If Peter’s being honest, he did not spend ages training his three inch punch like Kiddo did, but she didn't have super powers, and she was able to get out. He could do this.

He started the painstaking process of shifting his right arm upwards. Thankfully, it was not his burned arm. He huffed, and pulled his fist back as far as he could. He slammed it into the wood above his face.

“Fuck!”

He knew it would hurt. He did, really. But  _ shit.  _ But maybe it was worth it - he heard the oak split where he punched it. He aimed for the same spot, and punched once more. Despite the tear in the skin covering his knuckles, he punched again. And again. He thought Kiddo must have only done it a few more times than he had at this point. C’mon, he was stronger than her. He punched at the wood one more time, and it burst open. Kind of. The crack just got larger. But it was now large enough for him to rip at it to get it open more. He was finally able to pull a chunk away, and dirt spilled onto his face. Right, hurrying. He fisted his way up into the soil and used his other hand to rip away another sizable piece. More dirt spilled into the coffin, but he just made the whole wider. When he could shove his other arm through the hole, he ignored the sting of his burns and took a deep breath. 

He pushed dirt into the hole of his coffin and pushed his head into the dirt. The pressure of the earth against his head was heavy, but just a  _ few more seconds… _ He was digging upward now, the loose dirt now quickly filtering through his nicely constructed hole. With one final push, his hand felt fresh air once more. From there he pulled himself out, the dirt giving way to his body. 

His head surfaced and he took the deepest breath he could, then spit some dirt out of his mouth. He crawled out of the ground, kneeling over, trying to catch his breath. 

Holy fuck.

People often say that their worst fear is being buried alive, and Peter understood completely now. He was trapped six feet under in a space that was supposed to house dead bodies, trying not to think about how he could become one to the residents there. Tears slipped down his face. He could have died, and no one would know how. No one would know that he was in pain in a cramped box buried beneath the earth. He would have suffocated if he spent any time panicking down there, and now that he was safe, he had to process the fact that he was  _ buried alive. _

He looked down at his left arm and saw his charred skin through the tear in his suit. His leg looked worse. Then he checked the hand he used to escape. His knuckles were painted in red, running down his arm. He tried to twist his wrist, and hissed when it brought on a burst of pain. Probably fractured. 

Peter suddenly remembered the person that used to be in the grave. He whipped his head around to find them. When he was faced with the collection of bones and eaten up flesh and muscles, he gagged. Don’t throw up, man. You’ve gotta put them back in their resting place.

He pushed himself up, letting out a loud groan. Looking down at his body once more, he realized he was caked in dirt. Tears continued to trail down his face. Despite this, he bent down to pick up the shovel the fucker had left behind, and began digging once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos appreciated <3

**Author's Note:**

> that was an attempt at a one shot. hope you guys liked it! i'm busy with school and my other fic, so there's no guarantee i'll do every prompt everyday, but this is basically just like practice for me so it's fine. comments and kudos appreciated <3


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